Fake It Till You Make It
by D0rkKnight
Summary: Pyrrha of House Nikos... Legendary fighter, noble character. The epitome of calm, collected, and cool. Morally virtuous, impossibly courteous. Singlehandedly propelled Pumpkin Pete's Marshmallow Flakes to market monopoly glory. Little did anybody know though, that lying just beneath her carefully handcrafted exterior, was a girl so, so completely unlike her outward appearance.


**Chapter 1**

The Nikos family bloodline. Two millennia of tradition, two millennia of honed metallurgy. Passed down through the maiden mother, concentrating and diffusing through the ebb of time. All culminating in this one penultimate moment.

Pyrrha Nikos focused her attention of the tin cup before her and willed it to shift. It levitated. She twirled her finger around and the cup danced little circles in the air.

Professor Goodwitch hummed and marked something down on her clipboard. "Not bad…" she murmured. "So, I'm assuming you're a metallurgist?"

"Yes, Professor." Pyrrha settled the cup back onto the table, making sure to line it up prim and proper right down the midline. Perfect.

"Alright, your transcript looks good." Goodwitch pushed forwards a piece of paper and pointed at a line. "Just sign your signature here and you can leave."

"Uh…" Pyrrha asked. "Was that the entire interview?"

"Interview? No, I just wanted to see your semblance in action. It really is a special piece of magic," Goodwitch offhandedly stated. "Now shoo, you're holding up the line."

Pyrrha blinked. Was her semblance all that Professor Goodwitch saw in her? Something stirred at the bottom of her heart. It swelled, rose like a drumming tide, squeezed at her throat. Her mouth dried and the room suddenly became slightly too hot, slightly too humid. She reached forwards to sign the paper. "I'm sorry," she said uncharacteristically coldly.

Professor Goodwitch eyed her. "Ms. Nikos, would you like to let the students behind you wait?" she asked with an even colder chill.

Oh no. "N-no, it's perfectly fine," Pyrrha stammered. Blood rush to her cheeks. She glanced up at Professor Goodwitch and felt a small part of herself shrivel up and die inside. Goodwitch had her arms crossed and was eyeing her. Her professor's stare was like the sweltering sun. It beat her down, without mercy. A cold sweat roll over her.

"That's what I thought, Ms. Nikos."

Pen scratched on paper. Then, a drought descended upon the room. Silence.

"Thank you for your time," Pyrrha said, cringing at the void of confidence that was her voice. She put the pen down, noticing pale marks where her fingers were pressed against it.

She stood up, backed off towards the door and stabbed her hand at the door handle. To her surprise, Professor Goodwitch spoke up. "Before you leave, I should congratulate your entry to Beacon. You're exactly the kind of student that Beacon is looking for."

Pyrrha stared at her professor, her mind an empty blank. A small voice chirped in the back of her head: Professor Goodwitch wasn't so cold anymore! She hung awkwardly for a second before finally stuttering "Th-thanks, professo-"

"Okay, now shoo. Line's only growing."

Pyrrha yelped and rushed out the door. Slamming the door close, she sucked in a breath of air and held it, heart racing, blood pumping through her ears. She clenched her teeth down and forced herself to calm down. Focus on your breathing; enter a zenlike trance, just like her instructor had taught her.

Take. a. deep. breath.

Pyrrha Nikos screamed internally. She was such a fool back there. It took her professor literally three sentences to completely dismantle her. Oh, why don't we go off script! Oh, why don't we just misinterpret everything the poor girls saying!

She gritted her teeth and shut her eyes because deep down inside, she knew that it was mostly her making a fool of herself and that Professor Goodwitch just poked her on her metaphorical shoulder. And then she went splashing into the deep dark pool of anxiety and despair.

She opened her eyes and realized she hadn't budged a single step from the admission office door. And because of that, the person in front of her also hasn't been able to enter said office.

The sandy haired boy stared at her awkwardly. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. When he saw she was staring back, he glanced to the left, then the right.

"Mr. Arc, may you PLEASE enter the office?" Goodwitch called out from within. Pyrrha physically recoiled at that voice.

"Is she that bad?" the boy finally whispered, pointing his thumb towards the door.

"No, she's very nice," she stated. To her surprise, her voice was cool again. There, finally, the noble poise of house Nikos returns. "Anyhow, sorry about blocking you," she replied with a sophisticated intelligence and maturity that would have been very useful three minutes prior.

She stepped to the side and paced forwards, ignoring all the raised eyebrows from around the room questioning what horrors lay within that office that might have frightened the legendary Pyrrha Nikos to this extent.

She sighed and exited the building. Pushing her way through the door, she felt the cool, dry breeze run across her face. Only now did she realizes how stuffy the building interior was. Perhaps that was why Professor Goodwitch had such a vindictive streak.

She squeezed her eyes shut and scrunched her brow. "Why, why was I so stupid back there?!" She hissed, clenching her fists tight.

_

Glynda Goodwitch sighed as Ms. Nikos left the room. She didn't normally resort to these kinds of interview tactics, but she knew that Pyrrha would have all the interview responses prepared for. Nothing would throw her off guard if everything just went as planned.

"Strike her with her deepest fear, then twist her around and around, keep her guessing what's next, surprise her…" she idly muttered to herself. "And then her true character shows through."

Was she too unprofessional? Perhaps. But the girl should have known in advance that Beacon was no ordinary school.

She tapped her pen against the table in annoyance. "Mr. Arc, may you PLEASE enter the office?" she called out.

A few seconds passed. Then, a scrawny boy hurried in and shot her the single most fragile smile she had seen all day.

She sighed, kneaded her forehead, and motioned towards the chair. "Take a seat, please," she said, feeling the energy drain from her. She wasn't paid enough to do this all day.

The boy sat down. Glynda squinted closer at his transcript. "So… Mr. Arc, here it states that you 'harken from the far and exotic lands of Sanus.'"

"I indeed have traveled from Samus! Yes, it is a city of warrior people! We're all very very adept at fighting. Very much so."

She stared at him. The grin plastered over his face began veering off into a grimace, which then ramped right back up to an even toothier grin. Something bad was coming.

"Ah, I see, you doubt my combat skills! You fear I am too weak for Beacon! Well, fear not, for when I was but the youthful age of 8, I slayed ten, no, twenty Beowulf in our grand coliseum! Oh, the blood splattered all over the coliseum walls, my Crocea Mors shone bright crimson under the sun that day!"

Listening to this boy talk was giving her a migraine. On top of her exhaustion and his theatrics, the air felt as if it was plastered to her skin. Why, why did the building not have air conditioning? Why? She felt like she had an anchor attached to the fiber of her being and that it was dragging her down towards the floor, where the air was denser and thus there was enough water vapor to drown her. His words became a distant drumming.

"The Grimm that I slayed that day, fed my tribe for a month strai-"

She waved her hand in the air, motioning him to stop. "Your transcript is very impressive, Mr. Arc. Please, just sign this and leave."

**And thus bullshittery is victorious another day! The show shows Jaune as incompetent V1 through V3 but I like to believe that he has the trait that is virtuous like none other: a complete and utter lack of shame.****I'm curious how accurately I wrote Pyrrha relative to the show. Any and all feedback is welcome!**


End file.
